The Bear Jew Always Tops
by xScarlettxQuinnx
Summary: Since he didn’t speak French, he settled for breaking wind at her fancy lace towels and pocketing the second ball of soap in the dish." Disclaimer: QT Owns everything Inglourious Basterds.
1. Chapter 1

French water smelled. Leastways, it smelled different than the water back home. Back home, the water smelled clean, like it was just pulled from a well. Here it smelled like it lived under the streets in rusty pipes. Which, maybe it did. Aldo Raine reached for one of the little soap balls in the dish and ran it under the smelly water.

Maybe that's why the soap smelled so frilly, he thought, to cover up the smell of the water.

He lathered his hands and washed his face, frowning when he realized the damn soap didn't easily fit in his palm like he was used to, and therefore took longer to use. He was dripping all over the place and he didn't give a shit. Aldo reached blindly behind him and pulled one of the delicate lace towels off the bar. If French women were anything like American women, or at least the American women he knew, then he was using this one's good soap and good towels when he should be reaching into the medicine cabinet for the real soap, or in the thing over the toilet for the real towels. He didn't care. He was tired and he was pissed.

"You need to get in here?" he spoke to the lump on the bed, looking at her in the mirror over the sink, not bothering to turn around.

"Non," he sneered as the Frenchie bitch rolled over lazily on the bed and reached for an open magazine on the bedside table. It was just rude, is what it was, crawlin' all over a man in public, then going cold as soon as the door was shut and the clothes were off. She acted like there was something wrong with him. Like it was his fault she preferred a body in pristine condition with no scars to speak of.

He set about putting on the rest of his clothes, buttoning up, tucking in, and straightening. It was when he was tying his boots, bent half over the toilet, resting his heel on the rim, when he caught her poking the short stack of francs he left on her bedside table. She sneered at the money and he felt fire blow through him. He dared her, just dared her to tell him he short changed her.

When she caught his eye and realized what he saw her doing, she smiled wanly and made a point to flip a page of the magazine. Aldo wished he knew French so he could cuss her in her own language. Since he didn't, he settled for breaking wind at her fancy lace towels and pocketing the second ball of soap in the dish. You never knew when you needed a good soap ball, did you?

"These balls supposed to be something particular?" he found himself asking, though God knew why.

"Pardon?" she didn't even look up from her magazine and her tone told him exactly what she thought he could do with her fancy French shit.

"The soap. In the dish. It supposed to be something pretty or it made like 'at so it's useless like a French whore?"

She sneered and cut her eyes at him. Aldo kept his face blank, so she wouldn't know he was laughing at her. Sometimes it was a gift, bein' from Tennessee. Well, he figured it was always a gift bein' from Tennessee, but what he meant was people were always assuming he was stupid, so he could get away with more. Not that it didn't grate now and again, people thinkin' you was simple, but sometimes it paid off.

"So?" he prompted, running his hands over his hair to make sure it wasn't cowlicking anywhere. "It pretty or pretty useless?"

"They are cabbage roses you--" she let loose with a string of fancy French words he figured would have gotten him a good ear-boxin' if he'd used 'em in spitting distance of his Pa.

"Well, thanks for explaining it to me." Aldo plopped his hat on his head and made a show of tipping it at her. "Next time I'm through this town I'll have to look you up again, Simone, seein' as how you're so accommodating and all."

She picked up an empty glass from the bedside table and he heard it shatter against the back of the door as he shut it behind him. That cow. Aldo shook his head and clattered down the stairs of the whore house. He had exactly twenty minutes to make it to the rendezvous point and he wanted to stop at that café on the corner, get himself a sandwich or some such since his squad was about to be roughing it. He wondered if anyone at a French café would know how to make a good American meal like shit on a shingle.

***

"Hey Sergeant, you gonna do anything with 'at Natzi, or you just gonna stare at him all day?"

They had happened on them by accident. A group of Nazis around a broken down transport, hood up, tools spread out like they'd been there a while. There were only five of them but they did have something important to tell. They were coming back from some kind of furlough, probably went to the same whore house Aldo had.

They were returning to guard duty, they said. Very important prisoner, they said. What kind of prisoner would be so important, Aldo had wondered, needed five fresh guards at a time? The kind that was so dangerous he was being specially transported to Berlin in secret for a special trial. The kind who was a boogie man to bad little Aryan babies. The kind who had his own comrades so spooked that they wouldn't even be alone in the same bunker with him if he was on the wrong side of the bars and they had the key. Hugo Stiglitz.

The Basterds might not have been in Germany very long, but they had heard of Hugo Stiglitz. Who hadn't? The papers were lousy with tales of the guy. Granted, they didn't see a lot of fresh newspapers, but you'd be surprised the news you find out when you take the time to look what your meat's wrapped in. After hearing where the soldiers were headed, the Basterds made short work of them. This young one was the only one left. He had already obliged them with the bunker's location, pass words, guard rotations, and a map. There were no other secrets for him to tell. So, he got to meet Donny.

Donny Donowitz stared down at the Nazi private and felt a split second of something akin to guilt. Well, he shifted, fingers tightening on his bat, guilt was the wrong word. Maybe pity. Here's this kid, looking like he's only three months shy of seventeen, and he's all trussed up in a shiny suit and trying to act like he's tough when Donny can tell just by looking at him the kid's shitting his pants. "You hate Jews, kid?" He asked partly because he'd never thought to ask before, but also because he wanted to know. How does a kid like this decide to join up with a cause like that when he doesn't even look old enough to shave?

The private grimaced and shifted on his knees. He couldn't make a break for it before Donny hit him or he'd get shot. He pretty much just had to wait till he got clobbered. The kid opened his mouth like he'd say something, but he choked on his own snot and started sobbing instead. Donny heaved a long suffering sigh and shrugged over his shoulder at his Lieutenant. "How'm I supposed to hit him when he's crying like a little girl?"

"Can't hit girls, that's for damn sure," Aldo agreed, he was cleaning under his nails with his knife. Made the Germans go all titchy like when he did that. Made him look mean or something. "Want Hirschberg to shoot him?"

The kid sobbed, practically planting his face on the forest floor.

"Hey Hirschberg, you wanna shoot this Natzi since he's gone all sissified?"

The kid straightened, hands clasped together as though in the act of saying a Hail Mary and choked out something in German. Donny didn't need a translate to know he was begging. He rolled his eyes skyward. It wasn't the first time one of them begged. It was the first time he didn't just hit 'em anyway, though. He stared down at the kid, considering. "You wanna give me a reason why I shouldn't beat you brainless?"

The kid choked again and coughed, hacking snot down his chin. Donny backed up a pace to keep his boots clean. "I am a coward," he sniveled. A growing stain on the kid's uniform attested to that statement. "I am not like those other men." He pointed at the pile of bodies on the side of the road.

"Oh," Donny sneered, "you're not like those other Jew-killers, huh?"

"I am not! I have been a good soldier, I have only followed orders!" The kid wiped his nose with the back of his hand. It only served to wipe the snot and spit around his face some more. "What do I care about the Jews? I don't care, I swear!"

"Well then, this must really chap your piss-stained ass kid," Donny spat, rage blossoming in his gut, "because I don't care about you much either." He swung the bat like they taught him, not just hitting the target, but hitting through it. It knocked the little Nazi right off his heels and even though he was kneeling, he spun a little, ending up face down on the roadside. He didn't stop with just one; he hit the back of the kid's head so hard he felt the gravel of the road underneath.

He beat the back of his head again and again and again until there was nothing left but skin and bone fragments and used-up brain matter oozing out of what was left of the kid's ears. He could hear the guys cheering behind him, cheering mostly in awe he thought. Not so much at him, but at what he was willing to do.

He knew he was an animal and he didn't particularly care.

There's something about beating somebody to a bloody pulp with a stick. It's scarier than just shooting them. It's…more intimate. That's why he did it. That, and he admitted to himself, because they fucking deserved it and it happened to be the most painful thing he could think of that didn't require a table, a scalpel, and restraints. The bat was quick, it was easy, and it traveled well.

Plus, it made a great story: this great, big, mad-dog of a Jew beating the shit out of a bunch of sniveling Nazis. Even if it meant he was never going to be able to think of baseball the same way again.

"Good man, Donny," The Lieutenant clapped appreciatively, his knife sandwiched under his armpit. "That's the kinda enthusiasm I like to see." He looked around at the rest of the squad, quickly making sure everybody was present and accounted for, and then he waved at the road, "Now, let's move out, see if we can find this bunker before it gets too dark."

They fell in like Aldo knew they would and he sidled up to his sergeant, holstering the big Bowie knife as he went. "You thinkin' about addin' around a twenty questions to your repertoire, son?"

Donny shrugged, slinging his weapon of choice over his shoulders, "Not especially. I don't really care about their life stories, sir."

"No, I don't suppose you do," Aldo glanced at Donny sidelong. He wasn't sure how he managed it, but he was fairly certain the bigger man had put on more muscle since their arrival in Europe. "But you might wanna think about it. 'Specially if there's one of their comrades watchin'. Makes you seem scarier."

"That right?" Donny figured it probably had to do with some kind of mental manipulation that he didn't feel like thinking about right now. Freud was beneath him.

"Hell yeah that's right, I know if I was one a'them Gerry fuckers on my knees listenin' to this guy talk to my friend all civil like 'fore he hit him with a fucking ball bat, I'd be shittin' myself." Aldo laughed, "Hell, I wouldn't even have to be a German."

Donny looked at him sidelong and grinned, "You tellin' me I scare you, Lieutenant?"

"It's a good kinda scared, soldier." Aldo laughed with him and they fell into a kind of companionable silence until dark.

***

Thing about springin' Stiglitz, Aldo thought, it went easier'n a three dollar whore. Which was pretty damn easy, all things considered. That little Nazi boy gave good information and they were able to sneak in and sneak right back out again. They had to dump the truck, though.

Between the two of them, Utivich and Hirschbirg were able to get it into a kind of running order so they could make it over the hill to the bunker. Afterward, they drove it a few miles down the road, but had to dump it when it looked like there was a road block ahead. Shame about that, a truck would have been a nice thing to have. But then, Aldo didn't fancy traveling practically on somebody's lap for miles at a time on a daily basis so maybe it was for the best.

He stared across the campfire at the newest recruit. The flames played across the German's face, making it seem craggy and harsh. Aldo cocked his head, considering. "What makes a kraut hate another kraut?"

"That a kind of riddle, sir?" Somebody, Omar maybe, called across the fire. Aldo shook his head, his eyes not leaving Stiglitz.

"They rape your mama, boy?"

Stiglitz swiped his head first left then right.

"Set your dog on fire?"

Again, left, then right. This time he brought a flask of some kind of liquor to his lips. It came from a hidden pocket of his uniform.

"You gonna make me ask again, son?" Aldo's voice held a hint of command, but just a hint. Anymore and he'd have to get up and make his point.

Stiglitz said something in German and returned the flask to his pocket. Aldo rolled his eyes.

"Wicki!"

"He said he's insubordinate, sir."

"Yeah, I got that," Aldo scratched his chin, "killin' thirteen officers'll piss off a few people. They demote you before they try to ship you off to Berlin, sergeant?"

A quirk of the lips, but nothing more. Could be a yes, could be a no.

"So other than this authority problem, why go on a killing spree?" Aldo mused, "You one a'them 'undesirables' the Nazis' is always goin' on about?" Undesirable was a relative title, it could mean Jew, gypsy, queer, or any other type of person labeled 'enemy of the state'.

Stiglitz barked a laugh and muttered something else in his native tongue. Wicki was quick with a translation this time. "He says he is not a gypsy and if he were a Jew he'd be dead already."

Though it was not, Aldo thought, a complete answer. He shrugged, "You're gonna have to stop with the German, Stiglitz. We don't have time to make Wicki translate everything for no prima donnas, you hear?"

The German nodded and set about the complicated business of lighting a cigarette. It seemed like a good enough idea to Aldo, so he did the same. Stiglitz took a long draw from the cigarette and let the smoke curl lazily from his lips.

"You would prefer French?" He asked.


	2. Chapter 2

The map was wet in places. Holes were appearing where it had been folded rather than rolled, Paris had a crease running north to south and a hole had appeared over Bourges. The border between France and Germany was red, or _was_ red, now it was a watery pink. It was a basic map, it had the important bits, at least: Roads, towns, cities, troop movements (though some were far outdated as far as Stiglitz could tell). Underneath the map of France was one of Germany, this time the crease ran from Dortmund to Leipzig, and the hole fell over a rather empty part of the country.

"These are not very detailed." Stiglitz stuck a finger through the hole, thoughtful for a moment.

"Well you boys aren't very accomodatin' to our topography planes, now are you?" Aldo said flatly.

Stiglitz pulled at the German map and stabbed a place where he estimated they were. It was a darker green than the surrounding area, looking up the tree canopies would confirm that they were, indeed, in one of the large forests in the South of Germany.

"Head West straight out? Then take cover in the forest when we near Stuttgart?" Wicki suggested.

Stiglitz just shook his head, finger slowly trailing over the map to the road that they would have to cross. It was a favorite of supply caravans and prison transports.

"Head south, take a wide pass at Munich and follow the Austrian and Switzerland border in to France." Aldo's finger joined Stiglitz' on the paper, tracing south to another pinkish line, then west over to the French border. It made logical sense but Stiglitz swatted the Lieutenant's hand away. Aldo opened his mouth to protest but the German ignored him.

"You gonna tell us what you're thinkin' son?" Aldo asked, Stiglitz shook his head. He caught the tell tale tightening of the Lieutenant's jaw and rolled his eyes in frustration. Hugo Stiglitz was not a man used to explaining himself.

"_That way is too risky for our purposes_," Stiglitz said in German, Wicki translated.

Aldo narrowed his eyes and smirked, "Define 'risky'," he sniffed as he moved closer to the two crowding the map. Wicki looked between the German soldier and his commanding officer in a slow deliberate movement. Stiglitz would have to explain himself whether he wanted to or not.

Wicki rolled his eyes heavenward,"_Define_-"

"I heard him the first time," Stiglitz looked back at the map.

"So, you gonna tell me why we ain't or ain't'cha?" Aldo hunkered down on his heels and thought about taking the map back.

Stiglitz remained silent for a while "No."

"That ain't a reason soldier." The silence hung in the air for a while longer, Wicki stared at Stiglitz, Stiglitz stared at the map and Aldo examined his finger nails.

"There's a... kindof base there," Hugo answered slowly.

"More scalps for the boys."

"There are too many there and not enough of us," it was tricky trying to reason with the mountain man. If Hugo told him the real reason, they might want to go anyway to investigate. If he made it sound as though they would be bested, they'd want to go to prove they could do it. If he sounded wary, they'd want to see what was so horrible that Hugo Stiglitz wanted no part of it. He chose his words carefully, cursing the Lieutenant for not speaking German. English was, in some ways, too clunky a language for true persuasion.

"We have our orders." Aldo held out his hand for the map.

Stiglitz relinquished the papers and turned face the man, "You would kill yourself and your men for no reason. Go back to France and make a statement there."

"A nazi is a nazi, here or in France."

"It is too big, there are too many people, you cannot do anything but than fling yourself and your men at the gates."

"We've got a reason, German." Aldo stood up. "A pretty good one, I reckon. You sayin' you don't want to kill Nazis no more?"

Stiglitz laughed. "I can do no killing if I am dead. You ask my opinion and I say it is not a good idea to go to Dachau."

"What's Dachau?" Aldo almost scrutinized the map again. He didn't remember that being a town.

"Dachau is the camp."

"I thought you said base?"

"They amount to the same thing. Too many soldiers and more bodies than your men will wish to deal with." Stiglitz resisted the urge to clench his fist. He didn't like talking in circles.

"Give me something better then, instead of whining about how things are gonna be too dangerous." Aldo wasn't opposed to going a different route. But he sure as shit wasn't going to do it unless somebody gave him a better reason than 'there might be soldiers there'.

"Head West to Stuttgart, best to cross the road at night. It will less difficult than going around Dachau."

Aldo gave the German a long, considering look, then abruptly spun on his heel, "You heard the man, let's move out."

***

There was still at least an hour before dark when they came upon a bit of road in the middle of a dense piece of woodland. It was more of a track than a road but the churned up mud and gravel showed it was at least recently used. Aldo looked despairingly at the sky as he calculated times and distances in his head. Donny came up beside him.

"There's something coming." Donny said quietly, "Sounds small, like one of those bucket cars."

"Take Stiglitz and Omar," he scratched the back of his neck, "give the German a gun."

The Kubelwagen came around the bend, its engine rattling and metal bits squeaking as it trundled down the road. Standing in the middle of the road, having a perfectly civilised conversation was Omar; smallish in stature and dark with a sub machine gun slung nonchalantly over his shoulder, Stiglitz; with another machine gun and bland look on his face and Donny; yet another gun and a lopsided grin. The car was small, with only three soldiers, it came to a stop and the Germans looked out at the other three men, confused. Omar, Donny and Stiglitz lined up and opened fire.

Aldo heard the all clear and the Basterds moved out. The forest became a wet gray once the sun completely descended, he reckoned it was time to set up camp and as he was just about to signal the downtime he heard one of the men call out across their line. The high pitched, wavering whistle came from Wicki, who had decided to stay close to Stiglitz. The two of them had found a kindof hunting lodge that was still in good shape and in the distance he could hear running water. Aldo sent Utivich and Hirshberg out to clear the area while the rest set about making camp.

***

Thing about a cabin in the middle of nowhere—it was private enough that a body could walk around stark naked if they had a mind to. Or, butcher a dead animal carcass right on the front porch. Not that those were things Aldo Raine particularly had a mind to do, it was just interesting to note that he traveled clear across the world and he ended up in a place that was, essentially, just like the place that he left. If they were back home in Tennessee, he could walk thirty feet out of the lodge, hang a left down a half forgotten deer track and find his family's still in one of the caves behind Maynard Falls.

The roar of the falls was enough to hide the sound of the still. He wondered how it was holding up. If the war-time rationing system was making it difficult for his family to produce the good, strong corn liquor that even his tee-totaling granny was willing to imbibe on occasion for "strictly medicinal" purposes. Thinking of Granny Raine always made him sit up a little straighter and this time, when he did it he stretched his arms way over his head. That was when he realized he stank.

Aldo scratched his chin, considering. A quick dunk in that river behind the trees would do wonders for his body, but his clothes needed a good clean too. He was debating the relative pros and cons of actually walking around the lodge in just his smalls while his clothes dried when Donowitz rounded the side of the lodge and let out a defiant bellow that was loud enough to send a few birds flying.

"Something you'd like to share, sergeant?" Aldo didn't try to hide the annoyance in his voice. He had been enjoying the relative peace of the afternoon.

"It's too fucking quiet," Donny paced the small yard like a caged animal. "How's a guy supposed to think when it's this quiet?"

Aldo snorted and reached in his pack for his soap and a piece of flannel. "There were plenty of noise 'fore you went and scared the fauna."

"Right," Donny rolled his eyes, "damn birds…where is everybody, anyway?"

"Stiglitz and Wicki are out scouting, Ulmer and Hirschberg're on watch," he held up his fingers as he ticked through the list, "Utivich is checking traps, and the rest are tryin' their hands at a little huntin'."

"Hunting," Donny would have said something about Utivich checking traps, that in and of itself was a comical enough thought, but…_hunting?_ "Sir, we're not on vacation."

"Never said we were, sergeant, but we got us a nice little respite here, don't we? Might as well enjoy it." Aldo got up from the step and slung the flannel over his shoulder, pocketing the soap. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go avail myself of the facilities."

"Huh?"

"I've a mind to take a bath, soldier," Aldo strode past Donowitz and took an experimental sniff, "If you were any kinda smart, you'd do the same, son you are _ripe_."

"Well it's not like there's been an overabundance of hot water around, sir." Donny made a show of scratching under his left arm pit.

"Don't matter, there's a river through them trees," He reached into his breast pocket, feeling around for the snuff box. Funny, it'd been more places than he had, been handled by more people than was proper, but it was his father's before him and if he weren't mistaken, his granny's before that. She was a hard woman, Granny Raine, he thought with a grimace. She didn't take too kindly to men smelling like they was ten days from a washing.

Donny eyed the Apache, "Well aren't you just a noble savage."

"I don't know about all that," Aldo thought on his granny, on how, when he was six and hated bathing she made him sleep with the pig. Actually sleep in the damn pig pen. He had a ragged, circular patch on his ass where that sow gave him what for. Pigs, like Nazis, didn't particularly appreciate it when you went droppin' into their territory. He inhaled a pinch of snuff up each nostril and shook his head slightly to let it settle. Aldo snapped the box shut and turned it in his hand. "But I'm tellin' you if we're going to share quarters, you're going to wash the stank off you first."

"Well yes sir," Donny made a show of saluting before turning on his heel toward the woods. He stopped mid-turn and glanced at Aldo over his shoulder, "'m I supposed to be doing something other than get wet?"

Aldo rolled his eyes skyward and reached in his pocket for the soap. Striding past Donowitz, he tossed the little ball to the other man and headed for the tree line himself, deciding it was better to keep his comeback to that to himself. He didn't so much mind about the soap, anyway, it smelled a little highfalutin' for him, but it got you clean and it was free. At least the party to whom it belonged to wouldn't miss it, he figured, seeing as how that party charged him a whole twenty francs more than they should have on account of his scar when they were traveling through France.

Dumb whores, he shook his head, like they had any right to complain when they was giving it away for free to any Nazi officer who gave 'em an extra ration book. She wouldn't miss her soap, but Aldo could use it.

"Won't I just smell like a lilly of the field," Donny said with a sneer. But he took the soap, it used to be in the shape of a large cabbage rose, though now it was just a big, shapeless glob of dirty white nothing after being in the bottom of Aldo Raine's pack for the past month. "Aren't you going to need this?"

"Won't be the first time I got myself clean with sand," Aldo thought about expounding on the virtues of freshwater sand, but decided against it. If he told another 'up in the mountains' stories, the men really _were_ going to think he was an ignorant hick. He glanced over his shoulder and caught Donowitz glaring down at the soap ball like he was about to accidentally lose it in the forest underbrush. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, sergeant," he laughed, "how d'you expect to get a pretty Gerry milkmaid to look at you twice if you stink to high heaven?"

Donny laughed and grabbed his crotch, "Yeah, I got a fresh bouquet right here she can sniff."

Aldo glanced behind him in acknowledgment and took off for the river. Donny was a big boy, he could follow if he wanted, and picked his way down to the water's edge, tossing the snuff box from hand to hand as he went.

Once they reached the gravely bank Donny stripped completely and waded out into the sluggish current. Yeah, the water was cold but with the soap would at least make for a real cleaning.

Aldo stood on the bank and surveyed the area for a moment before he started pulling off his own uniform, piling it with military precision on a large boulder. Aldo waded out waist deep and started cleaning with handfuls of sand, something between a grimace and a content smile on his face.

"You want some'a this, Aldo?" Donny asked, appearing from under the surface, hair plastered to his face and blinking the soap out of his eyes.

"I don't cotton to smelling like a whore on payday, you use it." Aldo slipped under the water himself and appeared deeper in the middle of the river, to float lazily on his back.

"Well, at least one of us will smell good." And Donny went back to scrubbing his head with a fist full of soap.

"Who cares about smellin' good, Nancy," Aldo wiped the water out of his eyes with a lazy hand, "I care about clean."

"Yeah, I'm noticing that about you, Lieutenant." Donny dunked his head under water to get the soap out of it. Aldo was strange, here was this guy, this big, hulking redneck of a mountain man who you'd think didn't care if he wore the same thing ninety days at a stretch, yet he was probably the most fastidious of the entire group.

I mean, just take a look at that mustache, he sneered. It was always perfectly shaved, perfectly…perfect. Donny didn't get it. Not that, he figured, he didn't like a hot shave as much as the next guy, he just wasn't going to find the time or the mirror to do it every morning when there were better things to do.

Like killing.

He flexed his hand, the one that wasn't holding the soap. There was a ridge of new scar tissue over his middle and ring finger knuckles. When they first got here he lost his temper and knocked the teeth out of some Gerry prick for insulting his mother. At least, he figured the guy insulted his mother, he hadn't waited for a translation and the soldier was just begging for it, so for the one and only time he hit one of them with something other than his baseball bat.

The teeth broke the skin, he didn't need stitches, but only barely. It was enough for him to decide he'd never touch one of them again without thirty six inches of perfectly turned ash between them. He stared at the shiny line over his knuckles, "Hey Aldo, you got any scars?"

Donny wasn't too fussy, but he was a little vain about his body. Once, back in Boston, he fucked a literature professor's daughter. She was good, but she kept calling him Adonis, which kinda pissed him off. For two reasons, one, the lace curtain Irish bitch couldn't be fucked to learn his real name, and two, he wasn't Greek. If she wanted to flatter him she could have called him, he cast around for a good Hebrew warrior type, when he couldn't think of one but David and his slingshot he decided to let it go. Thing was, though, the girl really got off on how his body was pretty close to perfect.

Which, in turn, got Donny off.

He liked how he didn't really have any scars to speak of. He was one of the kids who gave 'em, not got 'em. So this thing on his hand really chapped his ass.

"I got any what?" Aldo sat up in the water and flicked his hair back, drops flying everywhere.

"Scars, you got any scars?" Donny thought about saying forget it, none of his business. But he was just narcissistic enough to want to know he was a step ahead of somebody. Especially since there was nobody of the female persuasion around to appreciate his Adonis-like body.

"Yeah, I got a few," Aldo grinned, flashing teeth under his mustache. "Why, you wanna see?" He lifted his chin to show off the doozy of a line over his throat.

"Other than that," Donny put his hands on his hips, unimpressed.

"Well, I got one on my hind end from a sow what bit me."

"A _cow_ bit you?" Crazy mountain man, Donny wouldn't be at all surprised.

"No, a _sow_," Aldo said slowly, "I got bit in the ass by a pig, city boy." He gave him a once-over like he knew damn well why Donovitch wanted to know in the first place and he wasn't having any of this 'I'm prettier than you' bullshit.

"A _pig_ bit you in the ass," Donny laughed, "d'you at least pay her? I hear some women up there charge good money for that."

When Aldo flew at him from across the river, Donny wasn't surprised. Actually, he was ready for him. It'd been so long since he bare knuckled anybody, he kinda missed it. The first punch hit pretty square and knocked his head sideways. There was a second punch almost immediately and it caught him in the ear. It knocked Donny back under the water where he wondered what the fuck he got himself into before Aldo had him by the throat. That gave Donny enough time to blindly swing out at the other man. At least he hit something. The grip on his throat fell away and a splash later Aldo staggered a few steps then ended up on his back in the shallows. Donny descended on the other man and sent a punch whistling into Aldo's stomach.

The Lieutenant folded up, gritting his teeth and with a surprising burst of energy for a winded man jumped up and fell against Donowitz sending them back into the water. Donny's back hit the gravel and they wrestled with gritted teeth, punches thrown wide, knees connecting with bone and... And then Aldo realized exactly how naked they were.

He was on his back, staring up at a pissed off sergeant and with the riverbed angling down into the shallows, he didn't even have to lower his eyes note Donowitz's…basket was just restin' on his chest like it was supposed to be there. Aldo grimaced and surged upward, but Donny had a good hold on him and all of a sudden there was an arm against his was breathing hard, snot and spittle flying off his face at every exhale. Little bits of it were falling on Aldo's bare chest and at one point, his cheek.

This was not a position Lieutenant Aldo Raine savored and he fought again, but that arm across his neck made it tough, didn't it? He grunted and jerked a little, but it did nothing really, except ensure that he'd have a big, black bruise on his neck. Fuckin' bastard.

Donny grinned, clearly enjoying his victory and leaned forward, not putting any more weight on his arm, but just enough so that his face was close to Aldo's and his body was pressed more firmly into the other man's chest.

"So, what does this scar look like?" The water was shallow enough that Donny didn't have to worry about keeping Aldo's head above the water. It was strangely comfortable up here. He figured he should be more freaked out that he was basically shoving his bits (as his mother used to call 'em) into his Lieutenant's chest, but, he figured, was that any different than making school yard boys eat dirt? It was all about dominance, right? Aldo had stopped fighting now and he glared up at Donny in stony silence.

Donny wiped some water from his face and raked his unoccupied hand through his hair. "So yeah, it's around here right?"

"Got-dammit." Aldo Raine felt a burst of adrenalin and pushed up somehow with his whole body. He pushed Donny clean off of him and gave the sergeant a good wallop on the face just to prove his point. Scrambling up and shambling to his clothes with as much shaky dignity as he could muster, he grabbed the bundle and took off through the woods to the hut. Not caring in the slightest that he was stark naked or that he'd have to wash himself again in a nasty barrel of rain water when he got back either.

Donny took a second to wash the sand off his knees and finger his stinging cheek. His fingers came away a little bloody, damn sonofabitch, he cut his cheek!

_How'd you get the scar, Donny?_

_Oh, I pinned my commanding officer in the river and practically gave physical. He didn't like it._

He pulled on his clothes, letting the suspenders hang and ignoring the tell tale signs of stiffness in his body. He refused to admit that Aldo gave as good as he got. That was too close to admitting he was (almost) bested. Getting walloped was one thing. Getting beat was another thing entirely.

By the time he got back to the cottage Aldo was dressed and picking clumps of mud from the treads of his boots. The Lieutenant didn't acknowledge his existence other than to grunt, "you owe me another bar of soap," at him as Donny brushed by him at the threshold.

Utivich was matter-of-factly skinning a rabbit at the broken down table. They'd use the hearth to cook tonight instead of an open air fire. It wasn't the same as a real place to stay, but they'd take what they could get, guerrilla warfare being what it was. "Aldo's taking the room on the end," Wikki jerked his head at the hall leading to the cell-like rooms at the back of the hunting lodge, what used to be bedrooms if the shredded remains of the quilt in the corner was any indication, "you gonna join him?"

"Nah, I don't think so," Donny watched the other man's knife skim the near naked animal. "I'll take the first watch."

"Stiglitz and Ulmer already volunteered, Sergeant," Aldo called from the doorway, making it clear he was listening. "Might as well sleep while you can."

Donny stared at the wall next to the fire place. Aldo was right. He just wasn't sure he didn't trust the Apache to scalp him in his sleep to make a point.

***

For the middle of no where it sure was noisy at night. Not traffic noisy, or crowd noisy but someone hammering into a piece of wood in the distance noisy. One more strange noise or weird movement and Donny would go out there and tell them exactly what he thought of nature and its stinking noises. He didn't move though, he was warm in the odd position he was in on his side. Sharing this small, pokey room with the Lieutenant wasn't so bad, it wasn't home but it beat being outside without a roof.

Donny could hear Aldo's breathing, and he was sure he was asleep. The breaths were deep, and long, it was almost calming to listen to those and not the random shrieks of some animal in the night. Animal? Person? There wasn't much difference. He twisted onto his back and looked up at the ceiling. He couldn't see anything up there, it was too dark but it was the only thing he had to stare at. He slung one arm under his head.

Aldo shifted somewhere beside him and snorted himself right out of a dead sleep. "Do you have to be so close?" He asked irritably, apropos of nothing.

"There's not a lot of floor space, Lieutenant." Donny replied in a hoarse whisper.

"Bad enough trying to get to sleep and you have to go and wake me."

"I woke you up." Donny glared over at the other shape beside him. "You wanna eat that bed roll of yours?"

"You've got watch soon, you might want to try to get some shut eye," Aldo responded, clearly nonplussed.

Donny assumed that was the end of that conversation, a few moments later though a rattling snore came from Aldo. "Oh, you have _got _to be _shitting _me!" Donny's growl elicited a chuckle from Aldo. "Not funny."

"I don't sleep you don't sleep," the Apache responded reasonably. An angry silence descended.

Aldo yawned. Yeah, he was tired but he couldn't get to sleep now. He scratched himself absently, and his hand lingered. He was still in full uniform, there was no such thing as changing to go to bed out here. It kept you warm at least. He scratched himself again, finding an itch in the general vicinity of his lap and slid his hand under his belt to ease it. That done, and digits being in such close proximity to other parts, he figured it was only natural to press the palm of his hand into his crotch, rubbing it a few times. Didn't take him long to start moving rhythmically, quickly.

Donny looked over at Aldo when he heard the small muffled grunt. Some moonlight filtered through the cracked window above them so it was clear to see what Aldo was doing, even if it did take his mind a split second to register. He was going to laugh when he realized Aldo probably didn't know he was watching. Aldo turned his head on the floor planks and met his gaze, eyes challenging, daring him to object.

Donny's lips curved into a smirk, "That can't be comfortable," he said, jerking his chin at Aldo's stilted movements under his belt. To prove his point he unbuttoned his trousers, hand flicking over the closures like a magician and did the same to his shorts. He pulled himself out with a flourish and spit on his palm. "Now this," he said, "This is comfortable."

"Uh huh," Aldo snorted, "I think you're gonna regret that, son."

"Oh yeah?" Donny turned his head to meet Aldo's amused gaze. "Why's that?"

"I don't figure you wantin' Utivich to think you like polishin' the old knob for your Commanding Officer's amusement, do you?" He jerked his chin at the window, not stopping his own ministrations.

Donny twisted his head to the window. There was nobody outside. He remembered too late that the foundation of the lodged was raised. So, even if there _were_ someone out there they'd have to be standing on a ladder in order to see inside. "Fuck, Aldo."

The Lieutenant's quiet, barking laughter was the only noise in the room. Donny wanted to hit him. But Aldo would most assuredly hit him back and that would lead to a scuffle and there was no hiding the noise of that from whoever was sleeping outside the door. Then they'd have to explain why they were fighting while Donny's cock flapped.

"God damn," Donny muttered, flopping on his bedroll so Aldo thought he was comfortable. He pointedly went back to what he was doing. "You keep watchin' like that and its not me they're gonna be talkin' about Lieutenant."

"Mm hm," Aldo fiddled with his belt and the closures at the tops of his pants and shorts. "No wonder you're always so damn fidgety, Donowitz, you can't rub one out jerkin' around like that." He closed his hand over himself, "Gotta be steady."

"You're kiddin', right? You fuck a woman like you fuck your hand?" Donny turned on his side, the moon glinted on his pale flesh, "No wonder that Frenchie whore over charged you."

"You keep that up you're gonna pull a muscle, son," Aldo spit on his palm and resumed his easy pace. He had all the time in the world. _He_ wasn't on watch tonight.

"I pull a muscle, you'll be the first to know, Lieutenant. That somethin' they teach in officer school? How to kiss a subordinate's boo-boos?" Donny's tempo increased, his hips moved involuntarily. He thought distantly of the last time somebody closed their mouth over him. What was her name? Corrinne? Coral? Some 'C' word. His hips twitched again, okay, not that 'C' word. "God, fuck," he slapped the bedroll under him with his unoccupied hand.

That woman, whoever she was. She had put her mouth on him like she was sucking pimentos out of olives or something. And, _God_, what a mouth! It was full and lush, warm and inviting. And she knew just what to do with her teeth, too, something Donny always appreciated as a public service. He was so close he could taste it, a few drops of moisture leaked from the head of his cock and he used his thumb to rub it around, he glanced triumphantly at Aldo and realized the other man was close to coming too.

He wondered whose face Aldo saw behind his eyes when he jerked off. Was it some whore or somebody else? Some girl from Appalachia, maybe?

"Hey, Aldo?"

"What?" The Apache glared at him with narrow eyes, this wasn't the best time to decide to chat, you know?

"What kinda women you got up there in the mountains?" Donny wanted to come standing up for some reason. His muscles clenched and released, wanting movement.

"Sweet," Aldo's words were terse, he was on his side as well, forehead pressed angrily into his own bedroll. "Pretty."

"They put out?" Donny would _kill_ for a pillow. It was fucking uncomfortable laying on your side with your neck all cramped from finding a place for your head to rest with your god damn shoulder in the way. And he had such big shoulders, he heard that Irish professor's daughter say in his head.

"Some." Aldo's movements were becoming jolty. He considered his sergeant, knowing the other man wanted a mental picture to help him come. He wasn't sure if he wanted to give it. Aldo didn't put much stock in talking about the girls he fucked. But, he figured, where was the harm? They were probably both going to die anyway. "Most won't, but some'll be kind to a man in need," he grinned knowingly and grunted, finding a steady cadence and sticking with it.

"Yeah?" Donny's breath came out in short pants, "Back home, the Jewish girls wouldn't even hold _hands_ unless you were engaged." He grinned, remembering, "Now, the _Catholics_…so …good."

"We don't have nobody but Baptists in Maynardville," Aldo added a twist of his wrist to every stroke. "First time I ever saw a Catholic snatch was when they dropped us in Italy."

Donny laughed, Italian girls. "There was this girl back home, Giuliana Boghetti, _God_ her tits." He was going to come thinking about Giuliana. "For a movie and a burger, she'd take out her cans and sandwich your dick and—," Whatever he was going to say was lost. Fuck Giuliana, he'd forgotten about her. He came into his bedroll, came so hard he saw stars behind his eyes.

Distantly, he knew Aldo was coming too, but only because the other man had flipped over on his back. They lay there, panting, sweat freezing on their exposed skin. Donny didn't move, unsure how to proceed. Aldo stared at the ceiling, trying to see the roof beams in the gloom. The moon had gone behind a cloud. "She'd do _what_ now?" They didn't have anything like that back in Tennessee.


End file.
